


No Choice

by Telaryn



Series: The Tale of Eliot Spencer and Ellen Harvelle [12]
Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Assault, Bar Room Brawl, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Death, F/M, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Mental Breakdown, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mentally ill young man comes into the Roadhouse one night. When the voices in his head convince him to attack one of the Roadhouse waitresses, Ellen is forced to intervene with tragic consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=angst_bingo)[](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=angst_bingo)**angst_bingo** 's Round 3, for the prompt "schizophrenia". I am not a medical professional - I have tried my best to be respectful of the disease, but this is a tragic story.

Ellen signaled Jo. “How’s the squirrel?” she asked, jerking her head in the direction of the sketchy young man warming a stool at the end of the Roadhouse bar.

Her daughter shrugged as she unloaded the empty glasses from her tray. “Three Coronas, two with lime,” she said off-handedly. “He’s pretty much keeping to himself. Vodka Collins, and a pretty unhealthy love for the honey roasted peanuts.”

Ellen twisted the tops off three long necked bottles and fit wedges of lime in the openings of two of them. “Let me know if it looks like we need to bounce him.”

Jo nodded, turning on her heel and heading back out into the crowd. It was standing room only in the bar, which only made Ellen more eager to get rid of the young man sitting fifteen feet to her left. The problem was that she couldn’t come up with anything close to a rational reason why he was making her so edgy.

A few more hours slipped by – business was brisk enough that Ellen forgot her worries for a time. When Eliot slipped out of the kitchen for a quick grope near midnight, she completely forgot to mention the creepy customer. “You need to hire more help, boss-lady,” he murmured, pressing her into the wall and nuzzling the area where her neck curved into her shoulder.

“Be nice, or I’ll cut your hours,” she retorted, gasping as he bit lightly into a particularly sensitive spot.

All too soon, Eliot went back to work in the kitchen, and duty pulled Ellen back to the bar. Orders came in steadily, and she worked without distraction until raised voices at the end of the bar drew her attention again. “Son of a bitch,” she hissed, dropping the rag she’d been using to wipe up a spill and reaching automatically for the sawed-off double-barrel shotgun she kept secured under the bar.

Molly, one of her girls, had been shoved face down on the bar. Her arm was twisted up behind her back, and the young man who’d been making Ellen nervous all night was standing over her – the point of a knife was pressed into the hollow at the base of her skull, and there was a wild, terrified expression in the kid’s dark eyes.

“All right everybody, just back up!” Ellen called, moving towards Molly without bringing the shotgun fully into view. Customers obligingly fell back, giving them a wide circle in which to maneuver. “Let’s not get upset,” Ellen went on, focusing her attention in on the young man. “What’s your name, son?”

He drew in a shaky breath, not looking away from Molly’s head. “You don’t need to worry about it. I understand now.”

 _Ah, fuck…_ Ellen thought, tightening her grip on the weapon. She’d done cartwheels trying to rationalize away the fact that the boy made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and here they were dealing with somebody who was obviously mentally ill. _Probably self-medicating too. Son of a bitch._ “Can I help you son?” she asked, keeping her voice as gentle as possible.

“Ellen,” Molly whimpered – her green eyes tear-filled and desperate as she looked up from her position.

“Shhh,” Ellen soothed. “Everything's fine Molly – just be easy.” She nodded encouragingly at the kid. “What's your name?”

He managed to focus on her – blinking sweat from his eyes. “Jake,” he said.

“Okay, Jake,” Ellen said, nodding. “My name's Ellen, and this is my place. Can you tell me what happened?”

The question looked as though it confused him for a moment. He glanced down at Molly, and Ellen saw a flash of distaste shiver across his expression. “I have to do what they tell me,” he whined. “They're yelling at me – can't you hear them?”

“I can't, Jake,” she admitted, “but there's been a lot of noise in here tonight. Maybe that's why they've been yelling at you?”

He looked confused again, but she'd given him something to seize on – a possible reason for what his psychosis was showing him other than his own perceived failure to do what he'd been ordered to do. “Why do they want you to hurt Molly?” she asked, once she was sure she had a connection with him.

The kid definitely liked her behaving as though his voices were real. _Real enough to him,_ she thought. “I don't ask,” he said, still shaking. “They hurt me if I ask.”

“Well, none of us want you hurt,” she said, taking another careful step closer. Beyond Jake's head, she could see Jo and the other girls quietly hustling patrons towards the door. _Bookkeeping's gonna be a bitch tonight,_ she thought, quashing that line of thought before she could start trying to remember how many tabs they'd been running. Anything so she didn't have to face the truth that she and her shotgun were the only ones standing between Molly and an ugly death.

“Can...can you see why I might have questions though?” she asked. “Molly's one of my people, Jake. She's a good girl, and if somebody thinks she's not, I'd really like to know why. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding, and if we can get it cleared up you won't have to hurt her?” Tears began streaming down Jake's face, sparking in the overhead lights. “You don't want to hurt her, do you?” Ellen asked, as gently as she could manage. “You don't look to me like somebody who wants to hurt anyone.”

“I don't,” he admitted. Their eyes met, and when she saw the utter hopelessness in their dark depths, Ellen felt the bottom drop out of her world. “And you're really sweet to want to help, but it's not going to do any good. They want her dead, and they want me to do it.”  
He'd only started to tense – Ellen later wouldn't be able to say with any honesty how she knew it was about to happen – but she had her rifle shouldered and aimed before he could finish the movement. Screams filled her ears, followed closely by the blast of two shells fired one right after the other.

Adrenaline held her paralyzed – gun still aimed, even though Jake and Molly had disappeared over the far side of the bar. Ellen had no idea how much time had passed, before she felt a familiar hand press gently between her shoulder blades. “Ellen.”

She flinched, reality starting to flood back in around her. Eliot gradually appeared in her peripheral vision, his blue eyes steady and intent on her. “You with me, sweetheart?” he asked gently. Ellen couldn't find the words to answer him, but she didn't resist when he covered her hands with his and pressed the shotgun down until the barrel was aimed safely at the floor.

“Let me have the gun,” he said, turning her towards him. “It's over. Let me have it.”

 _It's over..._ Ellen felt the tremors vibrating up her arms, and awkwardly pushed the gun in Eliot's direction. He took it, turned, and set it safely on one of the shelves below the bar. A moment later, his arms were around her shoulders, and he was pulling her into a tight, fierce hug.

A powerful sense of safety and relief engulfed her; Ellen buried her faced against his chest and fought against the hysterics that were threatening to overwhelm her. _Time enough for that later._  
****************  
 _Dammit!_ Eliot thought, supporting Ellen as best he could while surveying the chaos in front of him. Jo and the other girls had managed to clear out most of the Roadhouse patrons – Ash and a few of his buddies were still stubbornly at their usual table, but for the most part it was just a couple of rubber-necking stragglers left. _They'll be kicking themselves once the cops get here,_ he thought, the sound of sirens in the distance just beginning to register.

“Jo!” he called sharply, “take care of Molly.” Ellen's daughter immediately did as she was told. Eliot was as sure as he could be that Ellen's shot had taken out the stranger before he'd hurt the red-haired waitress, but she would still need medical attention.

The sound of Molly’s name seemed to finally penetrate Ellen's state of shock; she stirred in his embrace. Eliot let her pull back from him, only holding on long enough to determine that she was enough herself to face the police. “You back?” he asked.

She nodded, looking as though she wanted to ask him something. Smiling gently at her, Eliot said, “Whisky. I got it.” He urged her up onto one of the bar stools, and went to get a bottle of the “good stuff” from behind the bar.

Police and paramedics were swarming by the time he handed her a glass full of the amber-colored liquor. Jo had gotten Molly off the floor and into a chair – the girl appeared to be uninjured, but she was flinching violently whenever anyone got too close to her. They couldn't see the kid Ellen had shot from where he and Ellen were, but Eliot didn't miss how Jo gave the spot a wide berth as she moved around.

An all-too-familiar uniformed figure appeared in the doorway to the bar. “Anderson's here,” Eliot murmured, pressing a gentle kiss against Ellen's hair. “You up to this?”

Ellen chuckled bitterly. “Don't have much of a choice.” Tossing off the rest of the whisky, she passed him the glass. “Don't let me have anymore until we're home, okay?” she asked, meeting his eyes.

He nodded, helping her off the stool again.

Mercifully, the Sheriff agreed to take Ellen's statement well away from where the paramedics were trying to load what was left of the kid onto a stretcher. Once they came out from behind the bar, Eliot could see the full scope of the blood spray – streaks of red speckled with darker, thicker stuff. Once she'd committed to firing, there’d been no doubt Ellen was going to take the kid down.

“Unless you're hiding a law degree on us, Spencer,” Anderson said, drawing Eliot's attention, “you're going to need to give us some space.”

It was nothing he hadn't expected, but Eliot still glanced at Ellen for confirmation. “I'm fine, Cowboy,” she said – her voice finally steady again. “Carl and I are just gonna have a quick chat – it's all good.”

Only someone who knew her as well as Eliot did could have seen the lie in her, but the last thing he wanted to do was insult her by pushing things. Leaning down and kissing her lightly on the cheek, he turned and went towards the bar again.

“How much trouble's she going to be in?” Jo had come up to him as soon as he was out of earshot. Beyond her, paramedics were finally loading Molly onto a second stretcher. Carrie-Ann, her closest friend among the Roadhouse waitresses, was standing beside her, holding her hand and talking to her.

Eliot shrugged. “If he wants to be a prick, Anderson can probably fine her for the shotgun. Beyond that, she was acting in defense of a third party.” He planned on telling the Sheriff as much when it came time to give his own statement. Eliot knew Ellen likely didn't realize it yet, but he'd come out of the kitchen at a run as soon as the first screams had reached his ears. He'd seen virtually the entire exchange.

“There wasn't anything you could do,” Jo said, sympathetically. Eliot snorted softly.

“Not looking for absolution, Jo,” he said. The situation had been too delicately balanced from the word go – he'd seen in a flash that he was too far away to help, and one way or the other things were likely to be done by the time he could move into a more strategically advantageous position. “Your mother didn't do anything I wouldn't have done in her place.”

After a long moment of silence, he became aware that Jo was watching him. “What?” he asked, feigning annoyance.

She wasn't fooled. “Everybody talks about you having a White Knight complex,” she said. “You're too smart for that, though, aren't you?”

Raised voices reached their ears – Eliot turned to see Ellen gesturing angrily at the Sheriff. She looked more like herself though, so he forced himself to stay where he was. “White knights have a tendency to get the people around them killed,” he said. “Not to mention, I don't think your mother has _ever_ been a damsel in distress.”

What he didn't say – because it was nobody's business – was that as soon as he could get her safely away from here, Eliot planned on pampering Ellen Harvelle until she yelled at him to stop. The full impact of everything that had happened was still a little ways off – largely thanks to Ellen's determination not to let it overwhelm her when there was still work to be done – and the second she finally crashed, Eliot was determined to be there to catch her.

 _You won't have to deal with it alone,_ he promised her silently. _I swear._ He might not have been able to save her from pulling the trigger, but he could guarantee her at least that much.


End file.
